The Ghost in Green
by The Story Summoner
Summary: An accident at Ikana Canyon has left Link unable to finish his quest in saving Termina from destruction, his last loop ending with his untimely demise. However, another may be able to take up the challenge... with a little help from a ghost in green. Majora's Mask 'verse. Not romance.
1. Prologue: Pity for the Undead

Title: The Ghost in Green  
Rating: T  
Universe: Majora's Mask

Author's Note: Despite the fact that I just put everything on hiatus because of assignments, this needed to be written. Desperately. I'm past the worst of it, and this fic will be the focus at the moment so hopefully I'll finish it before I lose inspiration, given that a friend complimented me on my story planning. Future chapters will be longer… enjoy the prologue!

PROLOGUE  
Pity for the Undead

Ikana Canyon was a vast, desolate place. Signs of long-gone inhabitants were everywhere, the village of Ikana itself devoid of the living save for a brightly-coloured house standing proudly with its waterwheel and brass musical pipes protruding from the roof. That little slice of colour was like a beacon in the dark against the dull, brown-grey of the desert, and it lifted Link's spirits to see it there among the drab stones and lurking Garo. "Tatl… this is the last place your brother told us to go, right?" Link asked, turning to the winged orb of yellow light fluttering beside him.  
With a voice highly reminiscent of a service bell, Tatl replied, "Yes. Swamp, mountain, ocean, canyon. That's what he said, and we've already saved the giants from Woodfall, Snowhead and the Great Bay."  
The green-clad hylian nodded, his blue eyes shining with an adventurous eagerness. This could well be the last three day cycle that he had to complete before saving the land of Termina from the falling moon. Already Link had lost track of how many times he had played the melody of the Song of Time, the notes coming as naturally as breathing to his practiced fingers. It was only afternoon in Ikana Village, but already a chill wind blew through the cliff-side settlement known for housing the undead. Thankfully the moon was still somewhat distant in the hazy sky, not like the sky-swallowing closeness of the third day of the cycle, glaring down at the land of Termina below. As Link and his fey companion approached the lively-looking music-box house, but before they reached the top of the dusty rise, Tatl called for Link to stop. "Wait Link! Look up there. Can you see the Gibdos? I wouldn't go up there if I were you."  
Upon a closer inspection, there were indeed Gibdos circling the gaudy building, the bandaged undead walking with a slow purposelessness. Link had encountered these foes before, and he had a deep-seated fear of them. Actually, Link feared almost anything that was undead. Many thought that the Hero of Time was not afraid of anything, and that he was impossibly brave, but in all truth the reason he thought he was brave was because he could swallow his fear and stand tall in spite of it. Taking a deep breath he donned the Stone Mask, a mask that he had obtained on his way up to Ikana on his first trip. It rendered him inconspicuous and for all points and purposes invisible to enemy eyes.  
With slow and silent progress, Link snuck past the Gibdos, his heart beating frantically like a maniac unleashed upon an unsuspecting set of drums. After he felt he was a safe distance away he let out a relieved sigh and sat down on the dusty earth. It didn't look as if it had rained here in a very long time, the dried up riverbed an indicator, although it seemed to lead to a rather foreboding cave with an equally ominous sign beside the its cavernous mouth that read: 'Spring Water Cave Entry prohibited due to ghost sightings!' Link had had more enough of seeing the dead roaming the Ikana locale, not necessarily because of his fears, but because seeing them wrenched his heart with a sort of sadness, those that had lost their lives but couldn't leave the world behind. Sitting quietly in the company of Tatl, Link looked out over the strange beauty of Ikana Canyon, from the towering architectural grandeur of the nearby castle to the river far below, trailing snakelike through the deep rift that it had carved over thousands of years. _If I don't stop this, the moon will fall and this will all be destroyed…_ Link thought wistfully, _if I can't stop it, it won't just be Ikana Canyon that will be destroyed, but all of Termina. I have to do this._

The sun was dipping low on the horizon, the last warm rays of daylight relinquishing their light touch on the land reluctantly as evening approached, bringing with it a feeling of urgency that Link was beginning to become all too familiar with as the menacing face of the moon drew ever closer. Rousing himself from his relaxed position on the ground, Link watched the final patches of colour bleed out of the sky to be replaced by a quiet and chilly twilight. In five and a half hours, Anju would be waiting for him in the kitchen of the Stock Pot Inn. In six hours the poor woman from the bomb shop would be robbed by the bald thief Sakon. These things were all very familiar to Link now, part of the cycle that he would repeat as many times as he had to make sure Termina was safe from the horror of Majora's Mask.

To the West lay the ominous castle, and to the South lay the cliff that Link had had to traverse in order to arrive in Ikana Village and in the North there was only a sheer rock face that was impossible to pass. Only a dried up well to the East held any sort of explorative possibility, and with nowhere left to explore, Link walked quietly to the edge of the dark pit, thankful for the ladder rungs jutting out of the bricks. Hesitantly, he gripped the rusted metal and for a fleeting moment he was filled with doubt. The rungs which had before appeared sturdy he now wondered if they wound hold his weight as he climbed into the dark, dank and damp bottom of the well. Pausing for a second to gather his wits, Link took a deep, calming breath, the air tasting of warm, sandy, grit mixed with the stale air of he well. That simple action caused the momentary fear to be realised. With a horrendous screeching sound the metal tore itself free of the grey wall of the well. Link didn't even have time to scream. Tatl however did.  
"LIIIIINK!" the fairy shrieked, fluttering in panic as her green-garbed companion fell into the dark unknown at the bottom of the well. All she heard was a sickening thud as he landed with a terrible, bone-shattering force.


	2. The Spirits of Ikana

A/N: Thank-you to everyone who has favourited, followed, and/or read this Fanfiction. It makes me so happy to know that this Fanfiction is my most popular by views despite it being less than a week old compared to others that have been up for a year or so! However… I have not received any reviews. Either way, enjoy chapter one of 'The Ghost in Green'!

CHAPTER ONE  
The Spirits of Ikana

Blue eyes blinked open blearily, eyelids heavy with something akin to sleep, but not quite the same. The scufflings of the night-time desert canyon were the only sounds audible to pointed ears, the occasional flap of leathery wings punctuating the subtle quiet. A transparent hand was brought up to an equally transparent, green-capped head. The ghost had absolutely no idea where he was, or how he had gotten there. Glancing down beyond his boots that hovered just above the sandy ground he saw a well; deep, forbidding and deathly silent apart from a slow drip of water from somewhere down among the damp stones. The well felt familiar to the spectre, but each time he reached for his memories they slipped away as if he were trying to catch smoke with his bare hands. Everything was alien, the complete lack of any sense of touch; not the cool breeze trailing through the canyon or the stones below when he bent to pick one up. Through instinct he tried to breathe, but though his ghostly chest rose and fell, no air stirred. Involuntarily, he found himself drifting as he thought; wandering aimlessly in the land where the dead didn't rest.

A bright sunrise peeked over the horizon, pastel colours leaking into the grey morning sky. With the sun's rays came warmth, warmth that went unfelt by the ghost as he cast as he turned his cerulean eyes into the waking dawn, a small smile playing on his features. On whim, he stretched out a hand to the daybreak, as if he could touch it, feel the heat from the sun if he tried hard enough. However that was not to be, the light passing through him as easily as it passed through glass. The morning held importance, urging the spirit to hurry, but with no real reason to hurry and no memory of why, he ignored it and pushed the niggling feeling to the back of his mind.  
"Who are you? You are no warrior of Ikana, and neither are you a spirit corrupted by darkness."  
The ghost turned rapidly on reflex, only to nearly collide with a sinister hooded figure, garbed in a worn brown cloak that hid most of his body from sight, save for his skinny legs and glowing eyes. Had the ghost been standing firmly on the ground, and had he been a solid, physical entity he would have tripped over and stumbled backwards. Instead, he let out a yelp of surprise and jerked back suddenly in mid-air. "I'm…" the ghost began, his reply trailing off as he thought. Who was he?  
"I am waiting for your answer."  
"I… I don't know," he conceded, hanging his head a little in regret. The ghost felt it terrible being unable to answer the person in front of him, but his memories laid in shattered pieces about him, and unless he could put them together they were useless.  
"I feel you speak the truth. Lost spirit, I shall offer you information because I have found within the deep reaches of my heart pity for you. Listen carefully, for I shall only say it once. This was once the great Kingdom of Ikana, ruled by a wise king. For centuries all was well, but an evil lurked in the very heart of this place and the royal family and all who lived here slowly died off. Their spirits linger here still; the renowned warriors guarding sacred graves awaiting orders from their captain; the king still in Ikana Castle. You do not belong here. You may carry a sword, but you are no more than a child and cannot hope to match the might of the darkness here. Flee this place and find peace, little ghost. Belief or disbelief rests with you."  
With a flourish and a puff of choking smoke the Garo was gone, leaving no trace that he had been at all. Not even footprints remained where he had been standing, the sand untouched and unmarked by his presence. The ghost was left to gawp at where he had been, his mind mulling over what he had been told. 'Flee this place, little ghost,' the Garo had said. Belief wasn't the problem, despite the ominous nature of both the words and the one who imparted him with them, the ghost had no doubts that what he said was true. However, bringing himself to leave was a problem. His only distinct memories were of Ikana Village, and he had yet to sort out his hazy and confused mind.

Whispers flew about the village as the spectres that haunted it chattered in their hushed voices. As the sun climbed higher in the sky, the moon was falling towards the heart of Termina. Not that the ghosts worried about death; the time for that had been and gone for them. However, the ancient Kingdom of Ikana that they had called home for longer than even the oldest story-tellers and historians of Termina could personally recall was in peril, and lingering spirits were notorious for having connections with specific locations. The amnesiac ghost was among them, staring up at the gargantuan stony face that glared down at him. The undead seemed to have gathered at the edge of the cliff closest to the distant town, skeletal warriors mingling with transparent spirits as they looked up. A few even noticed the outlandishly dressed ghost that was almost leaning over the cliff to look at the moon. If he had had a physical form, gravity would have dragged him down into the Ikana River below. That sense of urgency had welled up within him again, seeing the horrific grimace that the celestial body bore stirring up something in his fragmented memory.  
"WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO!" he screamed, his ghostly voice carrying clear and sharp above the rocky outcrop and the echoes resonated over the grassy Terminian field beyond.  
Outraged voices rose up among the ghosts. Who was this newcomer with no regard for the ways of the dead? Life had been and gone and such outbursts were for those with warm blood pulsing through their veins and a living heartbeat. Panting without any real need, the spirit that had poured his emotion out over the plains of Termina paid them no heed. His memories may have been hazy, his drive may have been aimless, but even though he was dead he had found a determination that wouldn't allow him to sit idly. Flashes of memory in jumbled sequence leapt through his mind. While it was still in pieces, and he could make neither heads nor tails of most of it, there was one thing he knew. Turning and pushing blindly past the dead he ran, spectral feet not even touching the ground as he searched for a quiet place to sort out his thought and returning memories. The moon was to be stopped. Everything that he remembered, each moment was imbued with that single-minded purpose. He clung to that purpose like a man to a rope with nothing but a painful death below, refusing to let that single thing he had pieced together from a million fragments.

The rest of the day flickered by in a blur; none of the other spirits would have anything to do with the rash ghost after his outburst. They ignored him as if he were nothing more than just another grain of sand among the millions littering the ground. No matter how many times he called out for someone to listen to him or reached out to touch the shoulder of a ghost or Stalfos, he was met with nothing at best, or at worst a cold glare from sinister eyes that showed the ghost how real the darkness that the Garo had spoken of. Instead of scaring him away as was intended, the ghost felt a prickling of his nature telling him to help dispel the shadows of evil that held the dead Kingdom of Ikana in its grasp. It was a stubborn and foolish notion, but more so than that it was the path that a hero would take. Heroes rarely cared for their own safety when there were others at risk, a trait that they all shared and in truth the very trait that made them heroes. Unwilling to give up, the green-clad ghost pursued anyone he could find, asking them for answers about who he was and about the mysterious ninja that had delivered the ominous message to him.

Worry gnawed at the spectre's mind. The shadows were so long that night couldn't be far away and his search had been completely fruitless. He had been chased out of Ikana Village by the spirits he had enraged; they said that the Kingdom of Ikana had no use for someone who didn't accept their death and that perhaps he should just go to Clock Town and haunt the living if he wanted to take action so much. He now sat on a large boulder down the canyon on the other side of the beautifully pure river that was carrying the crystal clear water from the waterfall cavern to the Southern Swamp. The initial rush of having purpose had faded as he realised that he could do absolutely nothing about it leaving behind a hollow feeling of emptiness the likes of which was unrivalled by anything he could remember feeling from the shattered snatches of memory that occasionally flashed behind his eyes. Perhaps that was why he now rested on this particular rock. Maybe it had held importance to him or someone he knew before his memories conveniently decided to scatter themselves. With an airless sigh, he cast his eyes again to the sky, that horrific, grimacing face noticeably closer than it had been only a few hours ago. It would fall sometime tomorrow night at the rate it was falling… only thirty-six hours to find a way to stop the monstrosity in his insubstantial body and apply it. An impossible task for an intangible hero.


End file.
